


Bones in the Sand

by Miroya



Category: SpellForce (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drama & Romance, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20282026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miroya/pseuds/Miroya
Summary: Because I ship Tahanor and enjoy life.





	1. Listen to Reason

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Кости в песке](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/660250) by Миройя. 
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a bit OOC. But who cares, I doubt that Arenor had any romantic relationships (or sort of) before, so I assume she can think this way. And blazes, I just ship them so hard, okay? <3

_“It’s irresponsible,”_ Arenor thinks.  
  
Tahar looks at her, and in those eyes, clear as forest lakes from Arenor’s childhood – all what Iron Falcon abandoned for her duty, all what she is dreaming about in those rare nights when she have any dreams; memories from another life that she never had (better life? no, just different one).  
  
_“It’s wrong.”_  
  
Tahar smiles – her smile is broad and open, one mouth corner is higher than another. They say, “a clean hand wants no washing”; Tahar’s hands are white, covered only with scars and calluses, but Arenor knows – it’s not about skin.  
  
There’s no temptation, only offering – undoubtedly, fair one; a promise that Tahar will keep as always. _Reach out your hand, Arenor, and touch. This flame will not burn you, it will just warm you._  
  
_“It’s shameful.”_  
  
Tahar is talking to Arenor, and her words are solid as fortress walls, fastened with genuine interest, respect and admiration. Arenor’s heart not quickens, but she feels warm.  
  
Is there anything more natural in the world?  
  
_“It’s…”_  
  
Tahar kisses her, and Arenor no longer thinks of anything.


	2. Scars

Rays of rising sun fell on Tahar’s bed through a high window, and Arenor’s hair and skin shone gold in that light. Arenor herself didn’t care about it; still a little sleepy, she just squinted, pulling on her clothes forgotten yesterday – and there was beauty in this too.

Tahar knew that it was time to get up, but she allowed herself to stay in bed for a while, just to admire the sight – it wouldn’t take long, Arenor wasn’t in a hurry, but dressed quickly.

Arenor reached for her tunic, but was stopped by Tahar’s touch.

“What?” asked she, frowning. “We have to go, no time to play.”

“Tell me, Arenor”, Tahar stroked her shoulder marked with several white stripes. “Where did you get this scar?” 

“Are you not enough of your own?” scoffed Arenor in response.

“Just wondering. It looks like a claw mark.”

“It is. The panther hit me about five years ago, I still have her skin in my chamber.” 

“And what about this one?” Tahar traced the long scar on Arenor's side with her finger. A sword can leave such mark, but whose hand held it? 

“This is from my youth, the memory of one of the first battles after I became the Keeper. The Undead surrounded me, and, fighting back, I missed the blow.”

“And this one?” on the back of Arenor's head, among the dark bristles of growing hair, was a small mark. It could only be seen up close; for some reason, Tahar liked the thought that hardly anyone had paid attention to this scar before her - as if she had found something small, but very important.

Arenor let out a heavy sigh. “As children, we –Angar, Myrah and I - used to play before falling asleep. They tickled me, I tried to escape and hit my head on the bedside… yes, laugh if you think that’s funny, Tahar,” but with the last words Arenor laughed too, quietly and melodically, joining to Tahar. 

“You’re still so ticklish, aren’t you?” Tahar, smiling, kissed the scar and moved away, letting Arenor go.

“Don’t you dare to find that out…”


End file.
